Mesmerized

trece.

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Two sessions in with Dr. Jade, I was feeling worlds away from myself; I'd been journaling my feelings, cataloguing every emotion that I couldn't name in brief descriptions. I felt everything and nothing all at once, but Dr. Jade assured me that it was part of the process. Mahdi and I still hadn't spoken, I was ashamed of myself for the way that I'd treated him and wondered if he thought that I'd made my decision about him.

As usual, my thoughts were pushed to the back of my mind as my shift began, the last thing anyone needed was a distracted nurse.

"SANTOS! Look alive! There's been another shooting." Nurse Tyler shouted while slamming a clipboard down in front of me. I nodded, refocusing my mind; I had a job to do. We'd been seeing more and more shooting victims in the last few weeks, it was taking a toll on everyone.

Chaos ensued, the first paramedic through the doors filled us in on the situation.

"Six African American males, multiple gunshot wounds." She was on top of a gurney, performing vigorous chest compressions. "All unidentified at this time. Boy A has been down for three minutes. He's got thirteen bullet wounds; two to the skull and the rest are scattered across his body." She panted, no one around seemed hopeful that he would make it.

Our ER Chief nodded and delegated tasks to everyone around. "Do we know which one of them is the shooter?" He asked the paramedic, at the same time that the police had arrived.

She nodded, "Boy A. Those cops did this to stop him."

It seemed like every available eye then turned to her, as she tried to save the life of the person who caused the turmoil that we were presently witnessing.

"Santos, get all the blood that we have! These boys won't survive any more movement." An attending barked at me.

I nodded, glad to be out of the ER, if only for a few minutes. I ran as fast as I could through the hospital, taking the stairs because the elevator would take up too much time. When I returned to the pit, they were calling time of death for Boy A. I stopped in my tracks, faltering for the first time ever in my career as a nurse.

The rest of the night was painful for everyone involved, as four of the six boys were pronounced dead; the final two were in surgery and had been there for hours. All I wanted to do was give up, I'd never experienced a loss of that magnitude in one single shift.

The families had finally arrived, each of them had been living normally, never thinking for a second that their sons, brothers or fathers were fighting for their lives. I watched from the Nurses' Station as one mother slapped at the ER Chief's chest, asking why he couldn't save her son; her cries echoed throughout the halls as she was taken to speak to one of our resident therapists.

As one final sick joke, I was tasked with taking the other families to see their children, who had been moved to the ICU after surgery. I tried not to focus on the faces of the other distraught parties, the longing that their own sons were alive was clear as day on their faces. With every, "I'm sorry." and "We did the best that we could." I felt my energy depleting further.

I was a zombie by the time my shift was over, falling to the floor of the locker room and willing myself not to cry; I wasn't a crier, I couldn't be a crier. I'd never seen my loved ones in patients before, but my brothers' faces continuously flashed in my mind, wondering if they would've let them die too. The onslaught of guilt, sadness and fear was what I was afraid of when I started therapy; I wondered if I could successfully do my job if I was constantly consumed by emotions.

I stood up, heading to my locker and searching for my phone; wondering who would understand me in that moment. It was six in the morning and I didn't know if it was right for me to call anyone; to wake them up and subject them to the dark thoughts that wouldn't leave my head. Regardless, I scrolled through my contact list and called the person who I didn't even deserve to speak to.